Tag Archives: marine conservation

The interdependence of human society and the ocean is a theme that encompasses global environmental, political, and social policy and practice. The ocean provides goods and services that benefit all humanity, from the rich protein of fish to biodiversity and carbon storage. Yet our conceptions of the “renewable” water cycle and that there are “always more fish in the sea” lead us to overfish and pollute our oceans. As coastlines worldwide urbanize and increase pressure on our limited marine resources, we will need new and innovative strategies to balance conservation, industrial and commercial activities, and recreational activities in these environments.

I am a PhD Student of Environmental Economics at Duke University, the Nicholas School of the Environment. I just received my Master’s in Environmental Science from the Yale School of Forestry and I hold a B.S. in Economics and B.A. from Tulane – not the typical degrees for environmental conservation. My research focuses on resource economics, where I investigate sustainable strategies for coastal development and conservation, where conflicting uses of limited resources lie at the intersection of conservation, tourism, and industrial activities.

My recent Master’s research focused on marine mammal conservation and wildlife viewing tourism in Peninsula Valdes, Argentina. As a child, I would visit my grandparents in Buenos Aires every Christmas to enjoy the austral summer. As I grew older, I strove to maintain my Argentine heritage by studying Spanish, cooking traditional foods, and eventually studying abroad in Buenos Aires, Argentina.

It was in the austral spring of 2010 that I discovered a marine paradise on the windy Patagonian coast of the Peninsula Valdes World Heritage site in Argentina. A dry and shrubby land of guanacos and penguins juxtaposed against turquoise ocean waters filled with southern right whales. This Patagonian adventure shifted my undergraduate focus towards environmental management and pushed me to pursue a Master’s degree in Environmental Science (focus: resource economics) at Yale University.

In the summer of 2013, I fulfilled a three year goal to return to Peninsula Valdes and survey tourists on their wildlife viewing preferences and motivations for visiting the site, and the expenditures incurred to realize the trip. With these surveys, I hope to demonstrate the local, national, and international economic and social importance of marine mammal conservation in this region.

In addition to my academic work, I am also a PADI Dive Master and the acting U.S. Coordinator for Cousteau Divers, non-profit aimed at training divers to become citizen scientists and aid in the monitoring of marine ecosystems worldwide. I work with students at the Canterbury School in Saint Petersburg, Florida and trained divers on a special expedition to the Galapagos Islands last year.

This blog is a platform for sharing photographs, tales of adventure, and economic insights to marine conservation issues and fascinating marine ecosystems. In 2012 – 2013, I traveled to the Galapagos Islands, Patagonia, Argentina, and the Gulf of Mexico. In 2014, I hope to document further travels in Patagonia, the Caribbean, and Gulf Coast of the United States. I hope this blog not only shares my stories, but also serves as a resource for anyone aspiring to make a more positive impact on our oceans.

Over the summer 2013, I spent three months in Patagonia, Argentina, where I surveyed over 600 tourists on their wildlife viewing preferences, travel plans and expenditures, and motivations for visiting the World Heritage Site.

At last, it was time to return to land. Before our final stop in the Galapagos, we would venture to see the island’s symbol of endemic and endangered species: The Galapagos Tortoise. Huge, shy creatures, they could be found throughout “farms” where they are protected from hunting and other threats.

At last, with a heavy heart, and the sway of the boat still in our steps, we returned to San Cristobal, where we had embarked only a week prior.

With a few hours remaining before our flights, we visited a nearby Sea Lion Refuge, full of squealing pups and protective mothers.

When we finally arrived to the airport, we learned our flights had been delayed, although no reason was given. We passed the time reminiscing of the week’s journey, almost in a state of shock that it had already ended. For a week, we had been disconnected from the world, submerged in a place where dolphin speak and waves filled the void and where hand signals convey life-saving messages. As we turned on our phones and electronic devices, connecting to the outside world for the first time since our arrival, we were greeted by news of an impending hurricane in the Northeast United States – the destination of a few of the travelers, including myself.

Yet even that news seemed to hold no meaning – it was of another place. It wasn’t until en route, shaken by the turbulence of the hurricane, that I felt the weight of the world awaiting my return.

Our diving in paradise quickly came to an end, and we started the journey south. Crossing the equator, we awoke to a different world. Restful marine iguanas and alert Galapagos penguins shared the sun spread across the rocky side of the island. In the shallow waters, illuminated by the sun, we could see hundreds of sea turtles seeking that sacred warmth.

The Dive masters recommended a heavier wetsuit – our days of tropical diving in the Galapagos were at an end. Bracing ourselves with hoods, gloves, and 7mm suits, we jumped into the icy waters.

The world had changed. Yellow hard corals stood out amongst a desolate landscape. The colors were duller and the animals were scarcer. Clinging to an anchor, a few sea horses. ‘Hopping’ through the sand, hardly distinct in color, a batfish.

And then a dark shadow. Obscuring the sun rays, we looked to see the quickly retreating form of a mola mola. In this low visibility, and with its speed, I found that, unlike the whale sharks, catching up with these large, bony fish would be a waste of precious air. Fortunately, with patience, we continued to see these huge, and incredibly strange, creatures. Occasionally one would pause, turning on his side with his mouth towards the surface, in hopes of attracting fish to participate in this “cleaning station”.

As we neared the island, a quick flash of movement passed us. And then another. Black and white. These little penguins were too fast to capture in camera, much less within the limits of our human vision.

Another flightless bird also investigated our strange group of bubble-breathing humans. The flightless cormorant, a special variety of a common marine bird which has lost its ability to fly in an attempt to venture the seas among penguins and fish.

Although not endemic, the well-known Blue-footed Booby is another symbol of the Galapagos Islands. We found them decorating the island rocks as we took a short tour in one of the zodiacs, catching our first “top-side” glimpses of marine wildlife such as seabirds.

Certainly, the loss of warm waters was made up for by the strange assortment of creatures here, many endemic to the Galapagos Islands.

How do you describe paradise? How can you accurately describe a fleet of eagle rays gliding in perfect formation, as schools of hammerhead sharks pass overhead and a turtle accompanies you?

How can you begin to imagine the sensation of diving alongside a mammoth whale shark, following her into the vast blue, your air supply depleting as your tired legs and lungs gasp for air, only to find yourself surrounded by nothing more than schools of fish and pure emptiness? How do you describe such an immense amount of biodiversity filling your field of vision?

What does it mean to playfully roll about in the surf, with Galapagos fur seals as your companions? Their large eyes holding a curiosity equal only to your own.

Here, even the fish hold their own vanity in showing off their bright hues and fantastic displays of fins and scales. Like dancers of the sea, they are.

The clear, blue water allowed us to see for meters in any direction, allowing us to accompany as many as 12 whale sharks on a single dive. Throughout the dives, the incessant chatter of dolphins distracted our ever-searching eyes, hopeful for the sight of any kind of macrofauna. Our search was not in vain, as we were rewarded with a show of marine life that put the most impressive aquariums and marine collections to shame. As pods of dolphins played overhead, and even below, a constant stream of hammerhead sharks could be seen in almost any direction. The friendliest Galapagos Sea Turtles also made an appearance, gently gliding alongside our cameras for some photographs before departing into the currents.

What we saw at Wolf Island during a day of diving goes beyond any expectations, or even dreams, of what we hoped to see.

Darwin’s Arch initiated another breath-taking series of adventures. Since the beginning of our journey, the dive masters spoke of seeing Whale Sharks (Rhincodon typus). The largest fish in the sea, these gentle giants actually feed on plankton and other small organisms. The thought of seeing one was well beyond the scopes of my imagination, but much at the heart of my deepest desires.

The Islands had spoiled us – we had grown accustomed to seeing fleets of hammerhead sharks, lurking moray eels, sociable sea turtles, and schools of fish. On my previous dive trips in the Gulf of Mexico and Florida coast, I considered it great luck to see just one sea turtle, or one shark, or one school of fish. Our eyes searched the blue for more, for the greatest prize yet – the Whale Shark.

It happened so fast – I almost forgot why I was being pushed forward, but responded automatically with an additional effort to propel myself forward into the blue, leaving the safety of the reef.

And then it all made sense. The frantic motions of the dive master. The effort our small group exerted into exploring the unknown ocean blue. White dots began to materialize in front of me and there she was – a whale shark nearly the size of the bus!

The moment was so fleeting, gone before I could catch up with her. Fortunately, I would have a second chance (and many more). For now, we returned to the boat, where hot chocolate, warm towels, and excited exchanges of photographs and stories awaited us.

In between dives, we snorkeled with silky sharks. Without our clunky scuba gear, we were more like awkwardly swimming and free diving sea lions, driven by curiosity to venture close to the equally curious sharks. Having never snorkeled before (a shock, given my enthusiastic entrance into the world of scuba diving), my skills were untailored and yet I still managed to find myself among five circling sharks. One swam by, pierced by a hook with a lengthy fishing line still attached, trailing along like some tattered streamer. A few others were decorated with similar signs of accidental, or failed, fishing attempts.

Unlike the hammerheads, these sharks moved with purpose and intent to check out these strange, fumbling creatures on the water’s surface. In the background, a sea turtle gulped for air, unnoticed by the sharks. Although not territorial or aggressive, like bull sharks, the silky sharks do have a tendency to check out what may be edible. In my case, this led to a five minute experience both exhilarating and slightly terrifying. But rather than instilled a sense of fear, I gained a newfound respect for these efficient predators, sleek and streamlined in their movements.

Another top predator of the sea soon appeared in our second dive. In an effort to encounter whale sharks, we ventured into the blue, keeping the distant view of the reef to our left while our eyes strained into the vastness in hopes of seeing those white spots.

Instead, we saw a shimmering light, moving as one patterned unit. It was a school of tuna – another popular fishery target and food item for consumers worldwide. Yellowfin, Big Eye, and Skipjack are the main species targeted for the fishery.

Originally, foreign fleets were allowed access to these fisheries, even in the marine reserve. Since a Special Law passed in 1998, this has no longer been the case (A Brief History of the Tuna Fishery in the Galapagos). However, the fishery continues to exist outside of the marine reserve, and, occasionally and illegally, within it. Nonetheless, government efforts are striving to limit this fishery to account for the overfished nature of tuna worldwide.

Another curious megafauna approached us during a dive. Usually, we could just but hear their echolocation against the steady current and sway of the waves above. Occasionally, their quickly moving shapes could be seen in the blue. But never did one venture close enough to clearly photograph, much less stay to investigate these strange creatures exploring its home. However, this bottle nosed dolphin (Tursiops truncatus) circled our group and stayed at our level, giving us each a good look over, before joining his pod in the shadows.

And so we pressed on. Remembering the evolutionary beauty of what we saw and looking forward to new and familiar sites in the days that followed.

“Diver’s Paradise.” “The Golden Grail of Diving.” “One of the best diving sites in the world.”

These phrases, among others, have been used to describe the underwater experience associated with Islands Wolf and Darwin.

Both sites are world renown for dense schools of Scalloped Hammerheads (Sphyrna lewini). As you can see from the photo, these guys pose a minimum threat to humans. They tend to be shy and would often dissipate into the surrounding blue whenever we, a group of noisy bubble-makers, tried to approach.

This apparent abundance can be deceiving – these creatures are listed as endangered and arethreatened by shark finning and by becoming entangled in nets meant for other fish. Fortunately, these sharks, among other species of sharks, were recently protected at the CITES conference in Bangkok this past March 2013.

Other members of the shark and ray family filled the site. Schools of Silky Sharks, Galapagos Sharks, huge stingrays, and even fleets of spotted eagle rays crossed our paths. Spotted Eagle Rays (Aerobatus narinari) can be found in the Gulf of Mexico and other tropical seas. Their dark coloring with white spots distinguish them from all other types of rays. Like other rays, they eat mostly crustaceans, shellfish, and other creatures that can be found on the sea bottom. Their strange looking snouts even help them dig in the sand in search of food!

While the undulating bodies of the hammerheads seemed graceful against the ocean blue, and the gentle ‘flying’ of the eagle rays made them appear like flocks of birds, the almost militant march of the silky sharks was both heart-stopping and intimidating. As I lay against a rocky outcrop, I watched as a formation determinedly swam in front of me, less than a meter away. Minimizing my breathing, I hid against a rock waiting for the silkies to venture closer.

I eventually did have a close encounter with Silky Sharks, needless to say I felt less brave without the ‘protection’ of my noisy scuba gear.